


Test

by flinchflower



Series: Flashback [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Babysitting, Bobby's House, Childhood, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashback #10: Summary (past day).  Even when he was a kid, Sam’s always known how to push.  Bobby takes the boys for John during a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Test

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers, Explainations and other Humdingery in the series post. Warning for non-parental discipline of a child.

Bobby eyes the boys sitting quietly at his kitchen table, wondering how the hell John Winchester’d sweet talked him into this one. He can see that Dean can’t quite sit still, and his own distant memories of his boyhood provide him with a reason as to why the normally quiet kid is squirming like the dickens. He sighs. He’d hoped to keep them out of trouble in the kitchen, but the ten year old has his head on his arms and is softly kicking the leg of the chair over and over again. They haven’t been around in a few years, and he’s pretty sure Sammy doesn’t remember him well.

He doesn’t know whether to take the fact that they’re here as a compliment, because John never fucking leaves his boys anywhere, unless it’s with Jim Murphy, or as a bad sign, that John’s that hard up, can’t figure for what to do.

“Dean. I’ve got work to do in the study, just ‘round the corner. You and Sammy, you’re in here at the table, in the library, or in your room, you understand? House rules, you stay out of that study, and any door that’s closed.”

“Yessir.” He can tell Dean’s dying to spring up, and he wonders briefly what John spanked him for, but there’s no way he’s asking. His impression of Dean has always been one of absolute obedience. He hears Dean sigh as Sammy scrambles for the library, though the boy’d jumped right up. He snorts to himself. Maybe Sammy’ll rat out what the brat was in trouble for.

The trouble comes with the fact that his study doesn’t have a door on it, the stacks of books trails round the corner from the library, down the hall, and into the room he’s got his desk in, the journals he’s kept, various spell components that don’t belong in the kitchen. Plenty of poisons, and he thinks to himself that maybe he should enclose that kitchen porch for a still room, get the herbs out of here at least. The boys room is directly above the study, and he can hear Dean shuffling around up there. Maybe he should give the kid something to do. 

He’s lost in a book when his hunting instincts let him know that he’s no longer alone. Looking up, he’s bemused for a moment, because he’s pretty sure that Sammy doesn’t even know that he’s IN the study. The kid’s eyes are glued on the stacks of books, he’s very, very carefully running his eyes along each one, and Bobby has an uncomfortable feeling that Sam’s likely cataloguing the whole lot in that big brain of his. 

Bobby’s watched him and Dean at the lessons John’s set them. Latin, Greek, runes, diagrams, it hasn’t passed him by that Sam’s twice as fast as Dean at that part of the hunting. John pushes both of them hard, and he’s right to do it. 

“Boy!” He hollers, and Sam, well, falls over, taking a stack of books with him. “I told you to stay out of my study.”

“But they’re getting more interesting-“ And the rest of the statement is muffled by Dean’s hand over the boy’s mouth. The boy must’ve practically teleported downstairs.

“Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” the teen says easily, and vanishes from his doorway dragging a struggling Sam. “Quit it, brat, or I’ll make you sorry.”

“Aw, Dean, I was just looking –“

“And not paying attention to where you were goin.’ Better hope Dad doesn’t catch you like that.”

Their conversation fades into the library, and there’s some scuffling that has him tempted to get up, but it ceases after a while. He’s sorry it’s summer, and they don’t have homework, or he’d put ‘em at the table with it, have them out of his hair. A connection on the pages he’s been studying leaps out at him, and he’s gone into his research, doesn’t look up until the grandfather clock wakes up at midnight and he’s putting the finishing touches on the summary brief he’s been working on. It only chimes at twelve, for some reason, and he realizes he can still hear voices in the library, and frowns. 

Those boys are never up this late when John’s around. Damn. He heads on in there with a strange reluctance. He’d wanted to be a father, once, when his young wife… Gritting his teeth, he buries the thoughts. “Boys. Upstairs.” His voice is gruff, annoyed, and the younger boy gives him a startled look, takes the time to carefully lay the old book aside, put a pencil down on his notes – what the hell is a ten year old doing taking notes like some college student? Sammy brushes past him, trying to stay just squeak out of reach, but Bobby’s better. He grabs the kid, though not roughly.

“Don’t let me catch you up there reading,” he warns, and Sam’s curly head bobs. Cute kid, still. He’s got enough accomplished on his research tonight that he can maybe spend the time, find out what kind of a mind is under that mop of hair tomorrow, it’s got him curious. Dean’s lying on the hearthrug, sketching on some of the brown paper that the grocery delivery still wraps parcels in. Bobby can see it’s sketches of weaponry, diagrams of military battles – he’s a little surprised to see the history book open in front of Dean, a book on Scotland’s wars.

“Dean,” he says, letting his voice growl now. “Upstairs, boy.”

“Whatever, Bobby,” the kid mutters, focused on what he’s doing. He’s got raccoon rings around his eyes, and Bobby has no doubt they were up late the night before, with the end of a hunt and the traveling. He knows Dean doesn’t sleep as well as Sammy in the car, John must’ve mentioned it at some point. Though maybe – Dean shifts on the floor, away from Bobby, and the movement brings the man back to the present.

“Dean,” he warns, and the kid shrugs. Suddenly, Bobby can see the attitude John’s talking about, and he stoops, landing a pair of hefty swats on the kid’s backside, mindful that he’s lying on a hardwood floor and not something soft. Dean yelps and scrambles back, looking horrified, and John’s rule echoes through Bobby’s head. Any punishment you boys get from Bobby while I’m away, I’ll double it when I get back. It’s part of the litany the man recites to the boys before he leaves. Yeah. 

“You think your Daddy spanked you hard before you got here?”

The kid turns an interesting shade of magenta, watching Bobby bend and pick up the drawings, pencils and books. “He said he wouldn’t-“

“And he didn’t. You think it isn’t plain as day, to see when a boy’s been paddled, when ya sit squirming through supper like that? What’d you do?””

“Left the motel when I shouldn’tve,” the kid mumbles, and Bobby nods. He’ll back John on that one. 

“Good for John,” he says gruffly. “You goin’ up to bed now, or am I puttin’ you over my knee?” The threat isn’t hard to make – he’d only ever once followed up on it with Dean before. Dean scoots, and Bobby’s feeling paternal enough to follow him up and make sure he slides under the sheets. “I catch anyone out of bed, big trouble,” he warns, and there’s some rustling acknowledgment, and two quiet good-nights. Excellent. He’s tired enough to head for bed himself, and is out like a light, pointedly ignoring the whispering going on.

What he doesn’t expect is to wake at oh-dark thirty in the morning, with a sense of something wrong in the house. He simply slips his crucifix and his best knife from under his pillow, and makes his way cautiously downstairs, noting that none of the salt lines or juju bags are disturbed as he passes the front door. Frowning, he advances to the room where he can now hear faint sounds emitting – there’s no way that anything got past the dogs outside the kitchen, the window in his study is boarded over, and the fireplace is protected – and shit. There the youngest Winchester sits, curled against Bobby’s big wooden desk, slowly paging through a book, his eyes as wide as saucers. Fuck. There’s a reason, a damn good one, that folk aren’t allowed in here – this is where the serious books are kept, the ones that only a trained, educated man like Bobby ought to have hands on, much less a ten-year old boy. He lays his knife and the crucifix on the table outside the door, and steps fully into the doorway, unnoticed by Sam.

“Samuel Winchester,” he says heavily, knowing there’s no way out of this one. He’d far rather be the cool uncle who lets the boys play in tetanus heaven, eat meals when they remember, than do what he’s about to. But the study is verboten, has always been verboten, and Sam damn well knows better. There’s just too much risk, a child in here, no matter how responsible, and the boys know it, have had it drilled into them by John... “Come here, boy.” He sits heavily in one of the wooden chairs that’s miraculously not snowed under with papers at the moment. Sam’s still young enough that he shys forward to Bobby’s side, eyes huge with disbelief.

“Daresay you know the drill.”

“Yessir,” Sam whispers, and aw, hell. Bobby sighs, shakes his head, and pulls the young’un over his knee. He’s spanked his nephews before, when they were small, and this is no different. 

“You will stay out of my study, boy, or you’ll be in this position and worse every time.”

“Yessir,” comes the tearful voice, and Bobby brings his hand swatting down, nearly two dozen times, the cracks sounding loud as gunshots to him in the room, though Sam’s not fighting him. He can feel the restrained squirming, knows that their dad must ask the boys to stay still, knows John probably uses it like both their own fathers did as an indicator that he’s getting through to them. He stops for a moment. “Am I gonna find you in my study, or other places you’re not allowed, Sam?”

“N-nosir,” Sam says, “B-but I need to know where, p-please.” Aw shit. That little please all but does Bobby in, so he grits his teeth, gets another ten quick swats before he finds he can’t stand to land any more, and stands Sam up.

“M’sorry, sir,” the kid says, unbidden. “I won’t come in here any more, I promise.”

“Good. Upstairs,” he says, managing to maintain a stern demeanor. He steers Sam up to bed, and Dean sits bolt upright.

“Sam?” he says, anxious, and Bobby leaves them to it, though he hears Dean cuss, and tell Sam that he’s gonna regret his decision, and hears Sam’s classic answer.

“But he’s got BOOKS in there, Dean…”

**Author's Note:**

> Starship - Trouble In Mind


End file.
